


Missing You

by synvamp



Series: Tenderness & Spice [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: All the genres it seems, All the top feels, Angst, Body Worship, Comfort, Fluff, Hints of Smut, Hurt, I guess my tags are going to be very condiment heavy forever now, I've been infected by all the tenderness and spice, M/M, Sauce bottle, Sleepy sweetness, Some purple prose for a change XD, Spice rack, TW: very minor mention of Chpt 12, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25142554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synvamp/pseuds/synvamp
Summary: Tired and sore, Qrow returns home at the end of a long day. Clover wants nothing more than to snuggle him up in a warm blanket and tuck him into bed. Well... maybe just a few kisses before you sleep. Soft and sweet with a hit of spice.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Tenderness & Spice [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014210
Comments: 15
Kudos: 82





	Missing You

\---xxx---

Being without Qrow was like holding his breath.

Like drowning like falling like being choked unconscious.

It was raw and bitter and _dark._

Clover swore that he loved the man so much he missed his touch in the very second their fingers parted.

Qrow was quiet strength. He was determination and insight. Laughter under pressure. A fierce brand of freedom.

A heat that simmered just below the surface. You could see it in his eyes. A shade of red so intense, it _sizzled_. The passion that burned in him was almost frightening. Fierce and bright.

_Wildfire._

Qrow didn’t care if people liked him. His independence was _incandescent._ He walked that path by, and for, himself… and Clover felt awed that _he_ was the one that Qrow chose to walk beside him.

It was the strongest commendation he’d ever received and he wore Qrow’s presence like a badge of honour. This man, this raging fire of justice, scorned the world but _loved him._

Clover glanced at the clock just one more time and then heard the door open from the kitchen. He listened for the sound of Qrow’s soft footsteps approaching but heard only the couch springs creaking under sudden weight. He dried his hands and sought the presence he craved. In the gentle glow of the lamp light, he saw Qrow. He was sprawled face down on the couch, boots still on. Cover knelt on the carpet in front of him, his knees sinking into grey pile.

“Big day, baby bird?”

“Urgh,” Qrow groaned into the couch cushions.

“I’m making curry Menagerie style… your favourite,” he said, trying to entice Qrow to lift his head.

“It smells delicious,” the deep voice rasped into the cushions.

Clover lifted a hand and ran his fingers lightly through the silken salt and pepper strands, “Come on love bird, get changed and we can have some dinner. You always feel better with a full stomach.”

“I’m so tired,” Qrow huffed, his voice slow, weary.

“Too tired for my Menagerie curry? Who are you and what have you done with my gorgeous garbage guts?” Clover teased as his fingers worked gently. He was trying to draw the man into a little banter but he could see in the slump of his shoulders, hear in the deep and even breath, that Qrow was not going to take the bait this time.

“He died from overwork. Rest in peace,” Qrow grumbled into the couch.

Ruby’s face-off with Salem, the battle with the Grimm, Clover’s slow recovery… each event had taken its toll and the hard work was nowhere near done. But instead of making Clover feel weary, worn down and beaten up by it all, it made him just that little bit more grateful. He treasured these moments with reverence, living for the warmth of Qrow’s arms and the light in those fierce eyes.

Clover moved his hand slowly, the silky strands slipping through his fingers. Qrow sighed and moved ever so slightly, aching towards the gentle touch.

“Would you like me to help you?” Clover asked softly.

“By putting me out of my misery?” Qrow sassed to the couch.

Clover gave a little huff of laughter, “I could help you to get out of your things.”

“I have always wanted a handy manservant…” Qrow said, a hint of a smile finally warming his voice.

“Handsy manservant you say?” Clover grinned.

“Not quite where I was going, lucky charm,” Qrow finally rolled to face him, “but I guess I’ve had worse offers in my time…” he gave a weary smile.

Clover saw the exhaustion painted on his face and his heart swelled. He knew that Qrow was the linchpin that kept this whole operation rolling. He mentored the kids, kept the General this side of rational and helped Oscar to channel Oz right when the need was greatest. The rage that bubbled up inside the Captain’s chest when he saw dark circles under red eyes was heavy and hard all the same.

But he could offer comfort, warm arms and hot curry.

A little smirk twitching on succulent lips told Clover he’d been caught staring.

“I can’t help it,” Clover said softly, defending himself against the jibe that never came.

Qrow slowly pushed himself up to sitting, “I know. It’s a little bit adorable.”

Clover took a minute to just imbibe the man, to drink in the exact shade of his eyes in the low light. To indulge in the familiar, heady scent of him; the metal, sweat and dirt of a long day in the field. He rose and unclipped Qrow’s cape from his shoulders, carefully draping the fabric on the back of a chair before kneeling again at his chosen altar. Then he leaned in and drew Qrow’s arm around his shoulders. He let his nose just nuzzle into the short, soft hair behind Qrow’s ear, “Come on then,” he whispered, scooping Qrow up into his arms and lifting him to his feet. “You just stand here and I’ll take care of everything…”

He started with the boots, kneeling to hold them fast while Qrow slowly lifted his weary limbs. Qrow’s coat was a fiddly thing but now he’d had a lot of practice, he could flick the little clasps open quickly. He gradually moved his fingers up, gently pushing the fabric from the broad, strong shoulders. He wanted so much to lean closer, to breathe in the scent and let his hands trace the lean lines of that cherished form. Qrow was _so tired_ though and now was not a time to be selfish. So the coat joined the cape on the back of the chair and he began to unbutton Qrow’s shirt with delicate efficiency.

He removed the button-down and then gently untucked Qrow’s t-shirt from his waistband. “Arms up, baby bird,” he said and Qrow obediently lifted his arms above his head.

Clover pulled the fabric up and over, and as the t-shirt slid free of his wrists, Clover was caught in those fierce red eyes. They were tired, yes, but there was something else too… a little twinge of hurt, perhaps… disappointment?

“Are you ok?” he asked softly, dropping the shirt as an afterthought.

“I just thought you might be a little more… interested…” Qrow said, looking away.

“Interested?”

“In me,” Qrow huffed, crossing his arms in the space between them.

Slowly Clover realised what he meant and smiled, he put his hands on Qrow’s elbows and tried to entice him to open his arms, a light touch stroking up each of his forearms, “I am absolutely fascinated by you, Qrow. I just thought that you might be too tired… I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You didn’t want to?”

A little smile slipped out, “Ok, I wanted to. I still want to. I was just trying to be a gentleman, like the _absolute idiot_ that I am.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t let their poor boyfriend think that he’d lost his appeal,” Qrow smiled slowly.

“When you put it that way…” Clover twirled a dark lock of hair, smoothing it away from Qrow’s forehead. Then he stood on his toes to press his lips to the treasured brow. He cupped Qrow’s jaw lightly and leaned in. The stubble was coarse against his lips, each kiss leaving them tingling. He closed his eyes and let the sensations wash over him. The buzzing static of his lips, the warmth of his own breath, the scent of Qrow’s skin…

His eyes fluttered open and their gaze locked. He sought Qrow’s mouth and sucked gently on the tender, plump top lip that was all his fantasies. He focussed completely on the way his tongue skirted, the feeling of warmth and just how the lips parted, drawing him deeper into the kiss. His thumb stroked softly down Qrow’s neck and the lightest, “hmmm…” of pleasure slipped from those perfect lips as Qrow opened his arms in welcome.

Clover moved into the warm embrace and soft huffs of breath followed. He pressed his lips reverently to the pale skin and closed his eyes, the warmth of Qrow’s body anchoring him. His fingers circled downwards and lips followed, one slow and awed kiss leading inevitably to the next.

He had made this form his altar. It was such a _gift_ to discover Qrow. To hear the story of his desire written in a thousand precious secrets. 

A twitch of the hips explains that Qrow loves gentle puffs of air on the little trail of soft down that leads from his belly button over the rippled expanse of his stomach. A juddering sigh whispers Qrow’s joy in lingering kisses on his throat. The hiss of indrawn breath between teeth tells of the heat he feels when wet lips press on sensitive skin. There are so many secrets to learn. So much to discover.

He remembers so well the day when he realised that Qrow was achingly, delightfully sensitive in the little tender patch of skin behind his knees. Gentle fingers stroking _just so_ made him whimper. Hot breath brought soft gasps of need. A wet tongue flicking between lingering kisses was enough to send goose bumps shivering across his skin, as little huffs of breath became short and desperate.

The memories stirred deep in his belly and his hands moved to Qrow’s waist. He raised his head and sought the red eyes; they fluttered half lidded with exhaustion and desire. “Lie down, sweetheart,” he moved closer and Qrow leaned in on him, his whole weight pressing into Clover’s chest. He lifted Qrow gently and laid him down on the couch. “Turn over…” he whispered. Qrow smiled and turned slowly onto his stomach, Clover’s eyes lingering on the long lines of his arms… the way his lats slowly shifted under pale skin. He was such a beauty. So defined and well proportioned. The little scars which scattered his back only added to the eloquence of this tapestry. White lines showing old wounds, vivid swathes of pink where time had yet to dull the edge.

Clover knelt and kissed them softly, one by one. Every little mark he treasured. They were all a part of Qrow. All his precious memories. Every little line was his story, written in flesh. Written in blood and tears but also in _triumph._

Qrow turned his head and a sultry smile curled on his tired face, “Come up here…” he said softly, letting one knee fall down to make room.

Clover lowered himself down between those long legs. He let his weight press Qrow into the cushions and his eyelids fluttered at the sensation of welcoming heat. Shivers tingled on his skin like ripples on a pond, radiating out from that one point of contact. In an instant he was alight with yearning, aching for the slightest touch, so hungry it hurt. He took a steadying breath against the crushing need and let his hands sift through the smoky strands at the back of Qrow’s neck.

Clover’s fingers carefully traced from Qrow’s hairline. He kissed slowly down from those muscled shoulders, waiting for the soft moan that would tell him where his love bird wanted him to worship today.

His tongue moved slowly, moistening his bottom lip. He pressed his lips to the warm skin and sucked gently, his mouth making a soft pop as he pulled them away. Another slow and reverent kiss and another… then a flick of his tongue just to taste the salt of Qrow’s skin. The taste of him always made Clover hungry in a way no other lover had. As if he had been craving an elusive flavour all his life and had finally found that fantasy made flesh. Something ephemeral, only seen in a dream and then suddenly, _vibrantly_ real.

He kissed down slowly, lips and tongue savouring him, worshipping every hard-earned muscle and every cherished scar. Running his tongue down a recent slice of tender pink he heard a soft hum deep in Qrow’s chest. He pressed hot lips down and a low moan blessed his ears. As he leaned further, to give Qrow every attention he craved, his fingers tightened.

The sound tingled through his body. It was always like this… more than he wanted hard muscle, more than he wanted sweat-slicked skin, he wanted these needy secrets. The heady rush of Qrow’s desire. Every gasp of breath, every groan that escaped his lips was _pure ecstasy_. Clover thrummed with it. It stirred deep down inside him like a waking dragon. Fingers tightened and lips again found the salty skin. He _needed_ it now. It was more than wanting to make Qrow happy. He needed that sound… those juddering, heaving gasps. He needed them like breathing. He couldn’t even lift his lips because the addiction was too intense. He pressed his whole soul into Qrow’s back and whispered, “I love you…” when Qrow didn’t respond, he stood slowly, carefully, making sure to use the back of the couch to lever his weight away.

He sat on the carpet, looking into that adored face. The red eyes were closed and his breath was soft and even. Clover pulled a blanket up, nestling the fabric carefully to embrace the sleeping form. He smiled down fondly, committing to memory the way Qrow’s hair clung to the cushions, the gentle curve of his shoulder, the tiny rebellious dimple in his cheek. Then he stood slowly, ready to go back to the kitchen to finish dinner. But instead of leaving he found himself standing at the door.

_Most of the food is ready anyway… it won’t take long to finish it up once he wakes…_

So carefully, gently, he lay himself down on the carpet beside his sleeping love and a soft glow of contentment filled his being.

_I’ve been waiting for you all my life._

_What’s another hour or two now that you’re finally home?_

\---xxx---


End file.
